


Can't Fight This Feeling

by Anonymous



Series: Stupid Deep [7]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Big Dick Richie Tozier, Cock Warming, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, Honestly it's really cute, M/M, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Romance, Sappy Sex, Sleepy Sex, Wedding Night, Weddings, and i respect him for that, and then a bonus scene with, but u simply know there's still, eddie kaspbrak is just a man who loves dick, well everyone here it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21948907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Eddie,” Richie says, quiet and serious. “You’re not gonna abandon me at the altar, right?”Eddie’s heart softens, even though his eyes are still protesting and his head is throbbing. “Richie,” he says. “Why the fuck would I do that.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Stupid Deep [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1512914
Comments: 124
Kudos: 1153
Collections: Anonymous, Reddie Secret Santa 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tozierrichie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tozierrichie/gifts).



> MERRY CHRISTMAS YALL! Have some CHRISTMAS PORN. And by that I mean a non-christmas-related wedding fic with sex at the end. hohoho. this fic is for GILLIAN for our reddie secret santa exchange, I LOVE YOU AND I DID MY BEST TO FILL IT WITH THINGS U LOVE. thanks for being my friend <3 it's been an absolute pleasure being yours. big dick richie rights!

At some indeterminate time past midnight on one of the most crucial nights of Eddie’s life (in terms of how much he’d like to be sleeping), he is woken up by a quick shake to his hip. He groans as he wrenches his eyes open, having only just really fallen asleep, and blinks with difficulty. Moonlight and light pollution are streaming in through the window. Richie is staring at him with wide eyes from the space between their pillows. His hair is wild and he’s bathed in cool bluish light. “Eddie,” he says softly. 

“What,” Eddie mutters, eyes falling shut. 

“Are you asleep?”

Eddie pries his eyes back open specifically to send him a scathing look. “I _was,_ thanks for asking.”

Richie blinks a half dozen times in quick succession. He probably can’t see shit in this low lighting and without his glasses on, but he’s looking straight at Eddie like he can find all of the answers to the universe in his eyes or some shit. “Eddie,” he says, quiet and serious. “You’re not gonna abandon me at the altar, right?”

Eddie’s heart softens, even though his eyes are still protesting and his head is throbbing. “Richie,” he says. “Why the fuck would I do that.”

“I don’t know,” Richie says. “Remember Mamma Mia? The first one? She just, like, cancelled the wedding. And they were still in love!”

Eddie frowns. “Are you saying...we’re _not_ in love?”

“Huh? No. Wait. Anyway, you’ve never even seen that movie, probably.”

“No,” Eddie admits, rubbing his gritty eyes with his knuckles. “Rich, are you okay?”

“No,” Richie says, like it’s fact. “Hey, you’re not having second thoughts, right? You can tell me if you are. I’ll understand. I just want you to realize it before the actual wedding.”

Fumblingly, Eddie reaches out to frame Richie’s face with his hands instead. “Richie. Are _you_ having second thoughts? It sounds like you’re having second thoughts.”

He feels as much as he sees Richie shake his head vigorously. “No, no, I’m not, Eds. I’m not. I’m so in. I’m _all_ in. Why, how would you feel if I was? Would you be relieved? Are you trying to drop hints that you’d be relieved if I was having second thoughts?”

“Richie,” Eddie says, holding his cheeks firmly. “Baby.”

“I don’t have abandonment issues, what are you talking about?” Richie says, voice a little panicked. 

Eddie has to smile a little bit at that, because Richie is a mess and Eddie is usually a mess and it’s kind of nice, not being the one who’s a mess sometimes. And because Richie is a _predictable_ mess, and it’s bizarre that Eddie didn’t expect this to happen. Everything had been so smooth up until now. So chill. Richie making dumbass suggestions and Eddie shooting them down. Eddie stressing out over booking things in time and Richie giving him sloppy blowjobs in the bathrooms of venues they’re touring. Just, generally, Eddie being stressed about dumb details, and Richie laughing and telling him to _relax, babe, I can help with that._ He should have expected this. 

“You’re fucking stupid,” he says, in his most loving voice. 

Richie sighs exaggeratedly. “I know. Can you, like, cuddle me and shit?”

Eddie doesn’t respond—just lifts his arms a little bit so that Richie can wriggle closer and smush his face directly into Eddie’s chest, like he’s a child. Eddie wraps his arms around him and pats his back rhythmically with one hand, uses the other to cradle the back of his head gently. Richie tangles their legs together, one hand tight on Eddie’s hip, sniffling against his shirt. It’s cute; Eddie tips his face to kiss the top of his head. 

“This is nice,” Richie says pathetically. 

“You’re fucking stupid,” Eddie says again, letting his tired eyes flutter back closed. “Hey, you wanna know something?”

Richie hums vaguely, rubbing his face against Eddie’s shirt like he’s just craving contact.

“After I got married the first time, the whole time I thought… If I could go back in time, I’d never get married. I tried not to think it, or like, take it seriously. But I always kind of thought...being married ain’t shit. I didn’t enjoy it. It always felt constricting, and oppressive, and disappointing.”

“Oh, god,” Richie mutters against his chest. “We’re making a mistake.”

Eddie laughs softly into his hair. “I changed my mind, Rich. Obviously, because _I_ proposed to _you.”_

“You have a history of memory loss,” Richie says. 

“I changed my mind,” Eddie says, ignoring him. “You know why?”

Richie sniffs. His cold toes press against Eddie’s calves. “Why.”

“Because I fucking _love_ you,” Eddie says. “I fucking love you, and I want to keep you. And that’s it. You drive me fucking crazy. You make me angry every single day. And you make me laugh. And you make me want to kiss you. And we have really, _really_ good sex. And you make me happy. And I want that forever.” And then, because he can hear Richie sniffling again, he says, “Plus, you gotta think about the tax breaks. God, I just want those tax breaks.”

Richie coughs out a wet little laugh. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “We are just struggling so much, financially.”

“And you know I love paperwork,” Eddie says. “I’m getting hot just at the thought of filling out that fucking...tax form bullshit. I’m thinking of changing my name just to have more shit to fill out. Maybe I’ll change my first name while I’m at it.”

“Spaghetti Tozier-Kaspbrak,” Richie says. His joke, terrible as it is, falls even flatter with the little hitch of breath that accompanies it. 

“Why the fuck would I change my name to Spaghetti?” Eddie says, and doesn’t expect a reply. “God, I’d have to get a new passport, and new credit cards, and all sorts of shit. We can’t cancel the wedding _now.”_

Richie laughs a little. Eddie can feel a warm, damp spot on his shirt. “Yeah. Hey. I wanna keep you, too.”

“Oh, well thank god for that,” Eddie says, soft and fond. “Can we sleep now? We have to be up in like six hours.”

“No,” Richie says. “Tell me a bedtime story.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, exaggeratedly enough that he assumes Richie can tell somehow. “Is it not enough to cuddle you and kiss your head?”

“No.”

Eddie sighs, pushes his hand up under Richie’s shirt to rub over his back. Richie makes a contented sound, and Eddie can hear the soft noise of him kissing Eddie’s chest. It’s fucking cute. “When I was a kid I had this really gay fantasy about us, like, living together forever and essentially being gay and in love.”

For the first time since face-planting against him, Richie pulls back to squint up at him. “What?”

Eddie hums. “I thought, like. You know, living with my mom was shit, so I had this dream about us running away together or something, and living together, and being cute and domestic. Like in retrospect, you know, just really gay shit.”

“Aw, Eds,” Richie says. “That’s so cute.”

“I thought about that, when I first moved in with you,” Eddie tells him. “How it was kind of like a dream come true for 13-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak. I did run away, and I ran to you.” He pauses, then adds, “And then I saw your dick, and the rest is history.”

Richie snorts against his neck, making Eddie grimace. “Hell yeah. Worth it.”

“So that’s my story,” Eddie says. “Once upon a time, a scrawny little kid dreamed about living with his best friend forever. And then, thirty years later, he actually did it.”

“We don’t have to get married for that,” Richie tells him, too soft and too nervous. 

Eddie smiles. “I know. I want to.”

“Oh.” Eddie feels his smile against his throat. “Okay.”

Eddie laughs, and squeezes him tightly, and kisses his head a little fiercely. “Now go to bed,” he says. “We’ve got things to do tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Richie sighs. “Okay. Love you.”

“I love you too,” Eddie says on an eyeroll. “Now shut up and fall asleep.”

***

Twelve hours later, more or less, Eddie is standing in front of the full-length mirror in Stan’s hotel room, and slowly but surely having a mental breakdown.

“I did not sign up for this,” Stan says, sitting on his bed and looking at him tiredly. 

“Yes you did, you literally did, don’t even fucking start with me Stanley, we asked you to be a best man and you said _yes,”_ Eddie snaps, tugging his fucking bowtie loose for the third time. He keeps tying it weird. 

“I’m Richie’s best man, not yours,” Stan says blandly. 

“Yeah, well, we needed another room to use, and Richie claimed the honeymoon suite,” Eddie says, fingers fumbling with his stupid fucking strip of silk. “So suck it up. Bill’s stuck in traffic so you’re my crisis counsellor.”

“Why are you having a crisis?” Stan asks. 

“I don’t know! Why does anyone have crises, ever? I’m getting married, Stan! Married!”

Stan meets his eyes unblinkingly in the mirror. “You already got married once.”

“Yeah, and it was a fucking mess!”

“Uh huh.” Stan shifts his gaze to himself and starts messing with his hair. “So you made a better choice this time. So it’s gonna go better.”

“You fucking suck at this. And my hair looks stupid!”

Stan’s gaze shifts back from his hair to Eddie’s, which, though not as curly as Stan’s, is significantly curlier than when he gels it back every day. “You told me to help you with it, so I helped you.”

“Well, it’s stupid. Does it look stupid?” Eddie asks, fucking with it. He’s been gelling his hair back for like twenty years, when it started growing out curlier. He never knew what the fuck else to do. But whenever he lets it air-dry and Richie sees it, he always smiles and runs his fingers through it and kisses Eddie’s forehead and calls him cute. Which maybe is not the reaction he should be going for on his _wedding day._ God, this was a mistake. 

“Eds,” Stan says, sounding exhausted, as he has for the past forty years of his life. “It looks fine. You look good. Literally, I promise, the second you step out there you’re gonna forget what you even look like.”

“Do you know, I barely remember my first wedding,” Eddie says. “I think I was dissociating that entire day. Sometimes I worry something traumatizing happened to me that day and I just blocked it out.”

“Something did,” Stan says. “You married a woman.”

Eddie snorts, and his shoulders relax a little. “Yeah. Okay. Okay. I’m doing better this time.”

“Marrying a man,” Stan says, pretending to look at a clipboard. “Check.”

Eddie goes cold again. “Oh, god. I’m getting married.”

“Eddie,” Stan says dryly. “What are you _afraid of?”_

Eddie swallows thickly and thinks about it. “I don’t know,” he croaks. “What if he doesn’t like being married to me?”

“He will. Next question.”

Eddie coughs out a laugh. “I’m annoying as fuck, Stan.”

“So am I. So is he. Everyone’s annoying. But you’re working on it, and you two work together, so it’ll be fine.”

Eddie chews on his lip. “What if marrying a man fucks with his career?” 

“Then he’ll say _fuck it_ because he loves you more than a homophobic audience. Next.”

“What if I pass out during the ceremony?” 

Stan scoffs. “Then I’ll slap your face until you wake up, and we’ll keep going. I’ll personally destroy everyone’s phones for you if you want.”

Eddie sends him a small grin. “Thanks, Stan.”

“Eddie,” Stan says seriously. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Richie’s an idiot, and I would never, ever, ever have sex with him—”

“Your loss,” Eddie interjects, on instinct. 

“—but that man fucking loves you. Like, an absurd amount. He’s going to make you happy. And you already do make him happy. Nothing’s gonna change. You’re just gonna have a new ring and pay different taxes.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and sniffs. “Okay.”

A second later, Bev breezes into their room to make sure the tux she picked for Eddie is not being abused (it is), and Stan disappears to probably bring Richie a pre-wedding drink, and Bev takes over as crisis counsellor. 

“You’re so funny, Eddie Spaghetti,” Bev says cheerfully, fixing his bowtie for him in three seconds flat. “You worry about the weirdest things.”

“I know,” Eddie groans. “What if it drives Richie crazy after a couple years?”

“It already does,” Bev tells him. “He just also loves it.”

Eddie makes a disgruntled sound and straightens his cuffs for the three thousandth time. His heart is beating too quickly in his chest and throat and ears. Maybe this is normal wedding stuff. This is probably normal wedding stuff. He can’t _remember_ his first wedding. “Hey, me having a meltdown right now doesn’t make this a bad decision, right?”

“No, Eddie, that’s fairly normal,” Bev says soothingly, patting his shoulder. “I promise. I almost pissed myself before my wedding. Us divorcees, we’ve got it rough.”

Eddie smiles a little, looks at himself in the mirror. “Yeah. Hey. If I walk out there and Richie’s wearing a tuxedo tee, I’ll kill him and _then_ you.”

Bev laughs, and the sound of it makes him relax even more. “If he does, it’s because he snuck one on underneath the very nice outfit I picked out for him, and I’ll kill him before you have the chance to.”

“Yeah. Okay. How much time do I have?”

Bev checks the alarm clock on the bedside table. “We should probably head to the venue. Bill’s just gonna make it on time, so Ben and I are taking you there. Rich and Stan are going together.”

“Is it very telling that I kind of want to die on the way there? Bev, am I having second thoughts?”

“No, honey, you’re just panicking in general.” Bev’s eyes are warm and soft. “Come on, sweetie. You’re going to be late.”

The pet names help. He only allows them from Bev, who is perfect and faultless in every way, and Richie, who would never stop calling him them no matter what. 

So he straightens his cuffs one more time, and lets Bev fuss with his hair a little and hold his face for a long second, and then they go downstairs and meet Ben at their car in the parking garage. And then they make the short drive to the wedding venue, through the busy streets of LA, where Eddie fervently prays they don’t get into any last-minute car accidents. He has, it seems, changed his mind about dying on the way there. 

At the venue, in the back where the brides usually wait, everything is _very_ big and _very_ scary. He hopes Stan didn’t tell Richie that he’s having a very slow, drawn-out panic attack. If Richie knew Eddie was panicking, he’d start to panic, and they’d never get married. And Eddie wants to get married. 

He wants to get _married._

Bev abandons him in the little back room. Bill finally appears, looking like the worst possible choice for a best man. Eddie should have picked Mike. He’s closer to Bill but at least Mike doesn’t have a permanently terrified look on his face. 

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Bill tells him, looking like he doesn’t believe it for a second. 

Eddie swallows thickly. He can hear people chattering in the wedding hall. Familiar music that _he picked_ is playing over the speakers. “Oh my god,” he mutters. “Oh my god. Bill. Kill me.”

“No,” Bill says, but looks like he might die on the spot in Eddie’s place. 

“Getting married is a good thing, right?” Eddie asks frantically. 

“Yes,” Bill hedges. 

“Go away. I want Bev back.”

Bill laughs. He claps Eddie on his shoulder. “Do you want me to sneak a look at Richie for you?”

“No. Fuck. Why did I tell him he could go out first? It reinforces gender roles. Or like. You know. Just because I’m shorter and like to bottom doesn’t mean I’m the wife.”

Bill grimaces. “You let Richie go first because he can’t walk and cry at the same time.”

That makes Eddie smile. “Okay. Yeah, that’s true. What a wreck. Bill. I love him.”

Bill grins. “Yeah. You’ll be fine.”

“If you write this shit into a book one day and then murder one of the characters, that’s it, our friendship is over.”

And then it’s time for them to walk out. He makes a sound like a squeak, clears his throat, and kicks Bill in the shin. Bill walks out the door. Eddie follows

***

The second Eddie steps out into the aisle of the wedding hall, his eyes zero in on Richie and don’t fucking move.

He looks...good. He looks so good, it’s kind of ridiculous. There is no tuxedo tee in sight. Instead, he’s in this dark red tux that matches Eddie’s bowtie, tailored and pristine, with a patterned navy shirt the same colour as Eddie’s tux and the widest fucking shoulders Eddie’s ever seen and legs about three miles long. His hands are clasped in front of him. He’s grinning. He’s grinning so hard it looks like it must be painful. 

Eddie can’t help but grin back. He’s sure his panic is still showing, that he looks shaky and pale, but he’s smiling helplessly as he walks down the aisle behind Bill. And Richie just looks fucking _happy._ His eyes are shining behind his glasses. He looks like Eddie is the best thing he’s seen all day. Like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life. It wraps around Eddie’s chest and pulls, in the best possible way. 

Eddie swallows thickly and joins Richie center stage. Richie grabs his hand immediately, and squeezes hard. Eddie’s heart squeezes with it. 

“You’re not gonna abandon me at the altar, right?” Eddie whispers through a smile. 

Richie huffs out a laugh. “Not a chance in hell.”

Eddie does not hear a single fucking word of the ceremony after that. The officiant talks, and Eddie wouldn’t care if he was reciting his grocery list. His head is swimming, but not in the same way that it does when he’s having a panic attack. His vision is perfectly clear. His hands are sweating. Richie is standing in front of him, looking at him, smiling at him. Eddie has so much fucking love in his heart that he thinks it might burst through his ribs. 

Eddie says his vows first. They’re pretty standard, mostly stolen from the internet, though he refused to use any of the same phrases he used at his first wedding. He’s not sure they all come out of his mouth right, but he says something like, “I’ve made a lot of dumb mistakes in my life and you aren’t one of them,” and he says, “You make me brave.” He says, “I promise to stand with you always,” and then he says, “through good times and through clown times,” just to make Richie laugh. And he does. And it’s beautiful. 

And then Richie starts giving _his_ vows, and he starts crying _immediately._ He opens his mouth, and says, “Eds,” and instantly there are tears visibly springing to his eyes, and he’s laughing a little, and it’s making Eddie laugh, and _Eddie’s_ eyes burn. 

“Stop,” Eddie whispers, blinking hard. “You’re gonna make _me_ cry.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richie hiccups. Eddie squeezes his hands. “Eds,” he says again, and of _course_ he refuses to use Eddie’s actual name on their goddamn _wedding day._ “My confession is that I’ve been in love with you since you got so mad at me for calling _The Goonies_ a dumb movie that you gave me a black eye in 1988.” 

“Oh my god,” Eddie says. 

Richie sniffs, and grins, and lets go of Eddie’s hand for a second to wipe his eyes. “I always liked that you gave as good as you got, and weren’t afraid to give me or anyone else shit. And I liked that you cried trying to convince me that it was friendship that saved the Goon Docks from foreclosure.” Eddie squeezes his hands tightly enough to hurt. Richie’s smile is wobbly. “I liked that you _cared_ about things. You cared about people. And you still do. We’ve always been kind of a weird match. I should have thought you were uptight and boring, and you should have thought I was obnoxious and reckless. And we did. But I still looked at that uptight, boring kid and thought, damn, I want to annoy him for _ever._ And I plan to.” He blinks hard a few times, breath shuddering, and mutters, “Oh, Jesus Christ, we’re really in it now Trashmouth.”

Eddie laughs wetly. God, he loves him so much. 

“My point is, I’ve loved you forever,” Richie says, voice wrecked and cheeks wet. “And if I can love you through...all the shit we’ve been through, then it’s going to be easy to keep being in love with you. But I’m here to promise, today, not just to love you, but to be with you, and to be _there_ for you, and to make you laugh when you’re in your head too much, and to call you out when you’re being stupid, and to pretend not to hear you when you say something mean so that you can rethink it. You were the best part of my childhood, and the best part of my adulthood, and all that time in between doesn’t matter. I’m just—” He stops, rubs at his eyes again. “I’m just happy to be here with you, now. I was going to make a joke about pretending to be gay just to keep you, but I don’t want you to divorce me on the spot. Thanks for being my best friend. It’s been my pleasure being your midlife crisis.”

“Richie, oh my god,” Eddie says, but he can’t stop fucking smiling. 

“Put a ring on it, hot stuff,” Richie says, sniffling pathetically. 

Eddie glances back at Bill, who hands him the ring he and Richie picked out together. It’s nothing fancy—just sturdy, reliable. Something that will _last._ Richie has the same one in a smaller size, which he gets from Stan.

“You look really cute today,” Richie says, as Eddie takes his huge hand and fits the ring onto his finger. 

“You’re such an idiot,” Eddie says, and beams up at him, eyes wet. 

Richie cries all the way through sliding Eddie’s ring onto him. 

“Stop crying,” Eddie laughs softly, reaching up to wipe Richie’s face with the edge of his sleeve. He ignores his own watery eyes stubbornly. “You’re going to get snot on me.”

“I’m trying,” Richie says with a hitch of breath.

“You look like I’m holding you here at gunpoint.”

“I’m just happy,” Richie sniffs. 

Eddie smiles, heart in his throat. “Hey,” he says. “Kiss me.”

The officiant gives them his blessing. Eddie reaches up, and holds Richie’s wet, splotchy face between his hands. Richie smiles shakily. 

Their lips touch, and then Richie surges in and bends Eddie back with the force of it. The kiss lasts too long. There’s 100% more tongue than is appropriate for a wedding. Eddie is glad they made that stipulation about not bringing children to the ceremony. He’s never been happier in his fucking life. 

“And now,” the officiant says with an indulgent smile, “to all the friends and family who have come to celebrate this marriage, I would like to present, for the first time anywhere, the united couple Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak.”

The crowd erupts into cheers. Eddie can hear Mike whooping. He’s smiling too hard to really see. Richie holds tight to his hand, the ring on his finger a cold point of contact between them, and says, “Oh, _hell_ yes.”

***

Their wedding reception is, honestly, pretty amazing. It’s small—they mercilessly slashed people from their guest list—but it’s not quiet. There’s alcohol, but neither Richie or Eddie drinks excessively, sitting side-by-side at a table with the Losers with their glasses of champagne bubbling away. There’s loud 80s music and good food. No one clinks their wine glasses to make them kiss. Richie keeps clinking his own wine glass and kissing him anyway.

Everyone has a good time laughing and chatting over dinner, and then the lights dim and a familiar song starts, louder than before, and Richie’s head shoots up like a dog’s. “Eddie,” he whispers. 

Eddie laughs. “Come on,” he says, reaching for Richie’s hand. 

By now, Richie’s blazer has come off, and his bowtie is fuck-knows-where, but he still looks handsome as hell in his red waistcoat and navy shirt, with the first two buttons undone. His hair is wild, and his eyes are sparkling, reflecting the fairy lights twinkling in every corner. Eddie smiles up at him as they walk onto the dance floor, and runs his fingers through his dark curls, and palms his jaw for a moment, just to feel the warm corner of his smile. Richie catches his hand and makes a show of kissing his palm, but his lips are gentle and warm. 

“REO Speedwagon,” Richie hums, as his hands settle on Eddie’s hips. “1984.”

“It was the first song on the first mixtape you ever gave me,” Eddie says, winding his arms around stupidly broad shoulders. “And somehow you still gave me shit for how much I listened to it.”

“I was embarrassed,” Richie says with a grin, swaying forward to bump his forehead against Eddie’s. “I was so gone on you. I felt like you were _definitely_ going to figure it out, and at the same time I wanted you to so badly.”

“As if I would have ever,” Eddie snorts. “You were always the smart one.”

For some reason, that makes tears spring to Richie’s eyes. “I liked you so much,” he sniffles. “Little Richie Tozier _couldn’t_ fight this feeling anymore.”

Eddie tips his head back to laugh, and then leans back in and up to press his lips against Richie’s, soft and sweet. “I love you,” he whispers when he pulls back, like it’s a secret. 

Richie grins tearfully. “Lucky me.”

They dance the rest of the song pressed close together, barely even swaying left and right, Eddie’s head against Richie’s shoulder and Richie’s chin against his temple. It’s like a long, warm hug, only they shuffle their feet a little, and honestly, it’s fucking great. It has been a long, stressful, scary, exciting, _draining_ day, and Eddie didn’t know he was craving comfort until he got it. It feels so good, just holding and being held like this, Richie’s arms around him, his broad chest warm and solid, his cologne familiar. Tears spring to Eddie’s eyes, and he’s glad no one can see them. It feels so good, and Eddie gets to keep this. _Forever._ God, he’s the lucky one. 

“Eddie, I love you,” Richie mumbles against his hair as they dance, voice thick. “I love you I love you I love you. I’m so happy.”

“Richie, if you cry on me, I’ll kill you,” Eddie says hypocritically, kissing his shoulder. 

“Don’t be mean to me, I’m sensitive right now,” Richie says pathetically. 

Eddie smiles, and rubs his thumb over the nape of Richie’s neck, and says, “When do you wanna go back to the hotel?”

He hears Richie swallow thickly. “Soon,” he says. “A couple more songs. Then let’s bounce.”

The song ends, and Eddie steps back and presses up on his toes to kiss Richie firmly. He used to be shit with PDA, even though Richie would be touching him at all times if he could. But now, here, surrounded by friends and people who love them, he doesn’t give a fuck. He just got fucking married. He’s going to kiss his husband. 

“Oh, god,” Eddie says, as another song starts and more people join them on the dance floor. “Rich. I have a husband.”

Richie doesn’t stop openly weeping for the entirety of the next two songs. 

Things pick up after that, though, with some faster songs and, quite frankly, more booze imbibed by their guests. It’s a fairly small group, but they’re all rowdy, and they don’t let Eddie or Richie sit down for a second. Bev is a vision, dancing around everyone in her swishy dress, hands in the air, and everyone else is terrible at dancing, so Eddie doesn’t feel self-conscious at all. In any case, the lights are low, and the music is loud, and nothing else matters. Patty’s dragged Stan onto the floor despite many protestations. Bill looks awkward as fuck, and it’s hysterical. They’re all forty-something-year-old losers, and it feels good. It’s always felt good to be a loser. 

Huge, strong hands grip Eddie’s waist from behind, and Richie presses up against his back to speak into his ear. “Eddie Spaghetti, have you been taking dance classes behind my back?”

Eddie laughs, pretends to try to shake him off. “These hips just don’t lie, Tozier.”

“That’s Tozier-Kaspbrak to you, cutie,” Richie says, hands moving to palm at his stomach. 

“It’s literally not, fuck off,” Eddie says with a grin. 

Richie hums, and kisses the back of his neck, and says, “Tell me more about these hips.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, right up until he feels Richie press meaningfully up against his ass. “Oh,” he says. “You know what, maybe this conversation should be had...outside.”

Richie laughs. “Shall we?”

Eddie nods quickly. “Let’s just say bye to everyone and then fuck off.”

“We’ll be fucking _something,”_ Richie says. 

“Please never say it like that again.”

There’s about twenty people they’re morally obligated to say goodbye to between them and the door. Eddie steps out of Richie’s tight, warm grip and squares his shoulders. He’s got somewhere to _be._

***

It takes all of Eddie’s self-control and the fear of god (and Beverly Marsh) in his heart to not start ripping his and/or Richie’s clothes off the second they’re in the elevator up to their room. As it is, they stand very awkwardly side-by-side, surrounded on three sides by mirrors that give Eddie extremely dirty thoughts. But he _refuses_ to get arrested for public indecency on his wedding night. He will _not_ go there.

Richie grips his hand tightly and keeps rubbing his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles, and it’s making Eddie a little weak in the knees. By the time they reach their floor, Eddie’s stomach is churning. It doesn’t make sense. He wasn’t even this nervous about having sex with Richie their first time. It’s ridiculous. 

The elevator dings, and they step out. Richie tugs him gently down the hall to their door. 

“If there’s roses on the bed, Richie, I swear to god,” Eddie says, too loudly for the quiet hallway. 

Richie glances back at him and grins, eyes bright in the dim lighting. “There were when I checked in. I threw them out for you.”

Eddie is unexpectedly touched. “Oh. Thanks, Rich.”

“And the rooms are soundproof, allegedly,” Richie says, tossing a wink over his shoulder as he gets out his keycard. “So don’t hold back on anyone else’s account.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie mutters. His stomach is fluttering. This is so absurd. He’s had sex with Richie a thousand times. They have sex _all the time._ They had sex yesterday! It was great! 

“And this,” Richie says, swinging open the door, “is where the magic happens.”

Eddie looks inside. There’s a massive, king-sized bed in the middle of the floor. That’s really all he cares about. “Oh,” he says, heart sinking. “Now I’m just thinking about all the people that have had sex on this bed.”

Richie laughs, pulling him inside and closing the door behind them. “Eddie my love, it’s like you don’t even know me. I brought our sex blanket.”

“I hate it when you call it that,” Eddie says automatically, but his heart really does fucking thump against his ribs when Richie pulls a familiar folded blanket from the drawer under the enormous flatscreen TV. It’s dark red and velvety on the outside, and waterproof on the inside, and machine washable, and they use it to save their sheets from having to be changed every single night. It’s a goddamn miracle. And Richie remembered to bring it. “Rich. I love you.”

Richie grins at him, throwing the blanket over top of the bed. “That’s why we got married.”

Eddie’s heart wobbles. “Yeah.”

Richie turns back around, and gives Eddie a very obvious once-over. He bites his lip. “Come on over here. Husband.”

Eddie swallows thickly. He toes out of his shoes in a way he would usually snap at Richie for doing, walks across the plush carpet to where Richie is standing, waiting for him. He reaches out, trails his fingertips over the smooth silk of Richie’s waistcoat, the bump of the first button. He hears the click of Richie’s throat. The lights are dim, and the tension in their room is palpable. 

“Eddie,” Richie whispers. 

“You look good today,” Eddie murmurs, cheeks warm. His eyes flick up to Richie’s face, and then back down to the button he’s teasing. “Really good.”

Richie’s breath shudders out of him. “Yeah?” And then, “You too.”

Eddie cracks a smile, trails a hand over Richie’s chest. “Hey. Help me take my pants off.”

They have to be careful about it, because Bev really _will_ kill them if they rip these tuxes. But they get Eddie’s slacks unbuttoned and unzipped and slid down his legs, and he throws them on top of the dresser for safekeeping. And then he’s pushing Richie gently down onto the edge of the bed and climbing up onto his lap, straddling his thighs, knees spread wide around the breadth of them. He’s just in his boxer briefs and socks now, below the waist, and Richie’s still completely dressed, but Eddie doesn’t have time to focus on that right now, too busy framing Richie’s face with his hands and leaning in to kiss him, soft and slow and indulgent. 

God, it’s good. Eddie kisses Richie all the time—a dozen times a day—soft morning kisses and perfunctory goodbye and hello kisses and wild let’s-have-sex-right-now kisses and quick kisses in the middle of laughter. But this is different than all of those. This kiss is deep and almost hesitant, this kiss promises something more but isn’t sure what. This kiss says _I want you_ but it also says _but I could wait forever. This is enough. Just this is good._

And it’s _so_ good. Richie touches his hips and thighs and arms, deliberate touches, fingertips in all the right places, pressing hard enough that Eddie feels it all the way to the bone. They press up against each other, all the way down their fronts, a warm solid line of slow-burning lust. Eddie licks into Richie’s mouth with purpose, feels his stomach drop through the floor when Richie grips his hips and reciprocates. It feels like this is their first kiss. It’s incredible. 

“You’re so hot,” Richie breathes as they pull back an inch, lips already bitten pink. “God, Eds.”

Eddie smiles into another kiss, scrapes his teeth over Richie’s lip. “That’s why you married me,” he says, tapping the ring on his finger against Richie’s jaw. 

Richie’s breath hitches. “What a good fucking idea.”

Eddie threads his fingers into Richie’s curls and tugs a little, eliciting a low groan, and Eddie sighs and says, “I really want to have sex with you.”

“Guh,” Richie says, and then shakes his head to clear it. “Um, yes? Yes. I agree. Right now.”

Eddie grins. “My first time getting fucked as a married man.”

“Oh, god,” Richie says. “Eddie, you have to go easy on me. I’m sensitive.”

Eddie kisses him again, but only to keep them both busy while he picks at the buttons down Richie front carefully, first his waistcoat, then his shirt underneath. He pushes them both off Richie’s shoulders, and his entire body goes hot at the feeling of warm skin under his palms, which is absurd, he’s touched Richie a _thousand times,_ but it doesn’t seem to matter. He’s on fire. 

“I want to touch you,” he breathes, pushing Richie’s shirt down his arms and off. 

Richie moans softly, tugging his hands out of his sleeves and moving them to Eddie’s thighs to rub over bare skin. “You’re _touching_ me.”

“More,” Eddie says, and then shuts up so that he can kiss him, tongue in his mouth, palms sliding over his back, his shoulders, down his spine. Richie shudders under him, arches into it. 

Richie’s hands move up over Eddie’s torso, hesitate over the buttons of his shirt, and then lift up to his face to hold him steady while Richie kisses him, long and deep. Eddie can feel the cool surface of his ring against his cheek, and it makes him shiver. He pulls back, reaches up to hold Richie’s left hand there, and turns his face until he finds Richie’s ring with his lips, kissing it softly. 

Richie’s breath stutters, and his hips twitch. “Eds,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“Look at us, Rich,” Eddie murmurs, pressing his own ring into Richie’s chest. “We’re fucking married.”

“Yeah,” Richie breathes, overwhelmed. 

“Thirty fucking years and we’re _married._ Did you ever think?”

Eddie’s the one who said it, but it still makes his heart clench when he sees Richie shake his head, lips pressed together. “Never,” he says. “Only in my dreams.”

Eddie smiles shakily. “Well I’m wide awake.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, breath hitching. “We’re fucking _married.”_

Eddie’s shirt and Richie’s pants and shoes come off pretty quickly after that, their fingers fumbling as they struggle to press up against each other at pointedly inopportune moments. But then, finally, they’re both just in their underwear, and they’re climbing back up onto the bed, Richie with his back to the headboard, Eddie seated in his lap, pushing their hips together rhythmically as they make out. It’s not frantic or desperate or passionate—it’s just slow and hot and fucking _good._ It makes Eddie’s stomach burn with a want so deep it feels like yearning. 

Eddie groans and touches Richie all over and rubs his cock up against Richie’s soft, thick middle through his boxers, kissing him hard. 

“What do you want?” Richie asks him, soft and earnest as he palms Eddie’s ass. “Eds, baby, tell me what you need.”

“Need you inside me, eventually,” Eddie tells him, kissing up his jaw. “I’m in no rush. We’ve got forever.”

“Not tonight we don’t,” Richie says with a chuckle. “You want me to fuck you?”

Eddie nods, eyes closed. “I’m not picky, tonight,” he breathes against Richie’s throat. “Just want to feel you.”

“Then you’ll feel me,” Richie murmurs, and kisses him, and it’s so good that Eddie doesn’t even care about having sex, not right now. 

But Richie is handsy, and there’s still a fire burning low in Eddie’s stomach, and the more Richie touches and squeezes his ass the more Eddie feels like he wants to be closer, sink into each other, swallow and be swallowed. He doesn’t think that makes sense but no matter how much they’re touching it doesn’t feel like _enough._ Eddie wants _more._

“Richie,” he says softly, mouth raw where it’s been rubbing against Richie’s rough jaw. “There better be lube in this room.”

Richie huffs a laugh. “I told them it’s our wedding night, of course there’s lube.”

“Is it _good lube?”_ Eddie presses. “I won’t stand for water-based lube on my wedding night, Rich. That stuff is garbage.”

“It’s like you think I don’t know you.” Richie grins and presses a kiss to his sore mouth. “They’ve got all sorts of stuff. There’s like, flavoured lube, and warming lube—”

“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I’m not using a weird, unfamiliar lube that’s gonna give me a rash or something.”

“Yeah, I know,” Richie says with a soft laugh. “They’ve got nice silicone lube. You want me to grab it?”

“Yes please,” Eddie says, grinding his hips against Richie’s teasingly. “And then I want you to fuck me with it.”

Richie sighs happily. “I love my fussy, filthy-mouthed husband.”

The title rings between them, even though they’ve said it a number of times already. Eddie quirks a crooked smile down at him, and Richie lunges in to kiss him hard, and then reaches over to the bedside table, where a small bottle of lube has already been taken out of its box. Eddie loves him fiercely. 

Richie’s fingers tug down the waistband of Eddie’s boxers. Eddie hates this part—the first cold, wet touch—but he _loves_ the next bit, where Richie presses into him for the first time. Tonight, it feels even headier than usual, his heart pounding loud in their quiet room, his mouth pressed up against Richie’s, his arms around his neck. 

“ _Huh,”_ he says, breath leaving his lungs in a huff of air, thighs flexing as Richie sinks a finger into him. It hasn’t even been that long since they last did this—three days, Eddie thinks, too busy and wound up after that for anything other than sloppy blowjobs before bed. It still feels new and raw. “I love this,” he mutters against Richie’s jaw, “I love it every time.”

“I know you do,” Richie murmurs, pumping one finger slowly, adding a second easily. Eddie shifts a little, breathes deep. “Half the time you don’t even need it, you just like it.”

“I just like it,” Eddie agrees, a bit dumbly. 

“I like that you like it,” Richie hums, fingering him slow and deep. “I like making you feel good.”

“You do. You always do. Mmh, Rich, you make me feel so good.”

Richie shivers at the praise, and Eddie likes that, too. He knows Richie likes fucking him, that it feels good for him, but he always feels a little greedy, asking for it all the time. He knows Richie doesn’t mind, but. There are some things he can do, some things Eddie _does_ do, to make it good for him. Better. 

Talking is one of them. Eddie talks anyway, but he does it even more because he knows Richie likes it, likes to hear him. Just being loud in general. It doesn’t take much effort. Kissing him, holding him, begging him for more, saying dirty shit. Eddie can usually read him, can usually tell what he wants. When he wants filth, and when he wants something else, something softer. 

Richie is loud and obnoxious and crass, but he does it for attention. Any attention is better than none at all. But he’s a comedian because he likes the approval of making people laugh. He likes the constant validation of it. 

Eddie can do more than just laugh. 

“That’s good, Rich, that’s so good,” he moans softly, as Richie fingers him, stretches him. He squirms on Richie’s lap, doesn’t care that there’s lube and precum soaking his underwear. He’ll trash them after. Or let Richie...do whatever the fuck he wants with them. “God, you know how to work me over so good. You’re so good at it.”

“Yeah,” Richie breathes, throat bobbing. 

“Never met anyone who makes me feel as good as you do,” Eddie tells him, and he _means it._ “I’m so lucky.”

Richie whines a little, and rubs over his prostate with both fingers, makes Eddie’s spine jump. 

“ _Oh._ Rich, baby, you’re perfect for me. Should have married you even sooner.”

Richie sniffs, and blinks at Eddie with wide eyes. “Yeah?”

“God, yeah, you’re a fucking dream.” Eddie rides his fingers a little, licks his dry lips. “You know that, right?”

Richie gives a short, rough laugh. “I’m not exactly textbook ideal man, Eds.”

“We fought a clown twice, Rich, we’re not textbook _anything.”_ Eddie swallows thickly and lifts up, starts fighting to push his underwear down his legs. His cock bobs free, hard and leaking, and when he looks up Richie’s doing the same to himself, his own cock tight in his fist, more lube dripping through his fingers. The second they’re both completely, blessedly naked, Eddie’s climbing back into his lap, kissing him, pressing up against him. “You’re _my_ fucking dream, you fucker, I love you so much.”

Richie makes a sound like a quiet sob, face buried in the crook of Eddie’s neck, and Eddie lifts up, reaches for Richie’s cock. They both make deep sounds of relief as Eddie lines it up to sink onto it slowly, so so slowly. 

“Oh, _fuck,”_ Eddie sighs. “I love your dick, god, you know this but I fucking love your dick.” 

“Mmmm,” Richie hums, tight and controlled, as he twitches his hips up into Eddie. 

“And I like your hands,” Eddie says, feeling them warm and strong at his waist. “I love that you know how to use them. And I like your, _god,_ your dumbass smile and your sparkly eyes.”

Richie huffs a quiet laugh, supports Eddie’s ass as he continues sinking down onto him. “At least you didn’t say they’re attractive.”

“They _are,_ you moron.” Eddie forces his eyes open and looks at him, loves him with his whole chest. “Do you think I think you’re ugly? _No._ I think you’re hot fucking stuff. I like your face, and I like your shoulders, and I like your chest and your stomach and your thighs and your fingers and I look at you every day and I think _god, I want him to fuck me.”_

“Oh,” Richie says, and fucks up into him gently. 

Eddie moans. “And I like your laugh. And I like your voice when you’re horny and when you’re tired and when you just sucked my dick. And I like how you are with kids. And I like the face you make when you see something dumb you wanna buy. God, Rich, I don’t even know what to say, I’m just fucking glad I married you.”

“Oh my god,” Richie says, voice small. Eddie can tell he’s crying again. 

“Come on, baby,” Eddie says nonsensically. He doesn’t even know what he’s urging him to do. “Come on, sweetheart.”

“Eddie,” Richie says, wrecked, and then bucks his hips up once before lifting him up with strong hands and manhandling him down onto the bed, spread out on their soft blanket, and sliding back into him, Eddie’s legs hitched up around his waist. 

Eddie moans long and low, loving it, loving the closeness of it, the intimacy of Richie deep inside him and pressed close up against him. He fights to keep his eyes open, looks up into Richie’s face in the low light, reaches up to wipe dampness from under his eyes. Richie smiles down at him wetly, and thrusts into him slow and deep, just how Eddie wants it. Every spark of pleasure travels all the way down his limbs, into his extremities, flashing behind his eyes. He pants quick breaths through parted lips, but he’s smiling at the same time, unbearably happy. 

“Good?” Richie asks, touching Eddie’s shoulders and chest, rubbing over one nipple. “Eddie, is it good? Am I making you feel good?”

“Yeah, Richie, fuck,” Eddie breathes, loving the slide of him, the thick heat of him. He feels full enough to burst. “You make me feel amazing.”

“Want to do this forever,” Richie pants, leaning down, kissing Eddie’s sweaty forehead. “So happy to get to do this.”

Eddie’s throat feels thick with emotion, and he reaches out, clings to him. The stretch of Richie inside of him is exquisite, as it always is. No matter how many times or how often they do this, Eddie always feels like he can only just _barely_ take it. And he loves it. But that’s not why he loves having sex with Richie. 

“Rich,” he says, a little urgently, suddenly possessed with the idea. “Richie, I love you.”

“I know, god, Eds, I love you too,” Richie says roughly, lashes fluttering, hips grinding into him. 

Eddie breathes out a soft moan. “No, I mean, fuck. _Ah,_ Rich, there.” He swallows hard, shakes off the stars sparkling behind his eyes. “I know I talk about your dick all the time but I _really_ love you, I love, _ah,_ having sex with you, not just because you have a big dick—”

Richie laughs a little, leaning down to kiss him messily, mouth halfway on Eddie’s cheek. “I _know.”_

Eddie has to close his eyes against the sudden onslaught of pleasure as Richie fucks him just right, he knows how to do it _just right,_ god, it’s so fucking good. “Even if you hated sex and never wanted to have it I’d still love you, I mean it, _Richie,_ I just got lucky, fuck, I got lucky that you’re so big and that you’re so good at fucking me, but I only want it all the time because I _love you so much.”_

“Ed _die,”_ Richie says brokenly, forearms sliding under him, holding him close. 

Eddie can feel his eyes getting hot and wet, and he doesn’t know if it’s just because he’s kind of dick drunk but his emotions feel too big for his chest, he feels so good and so happy and so grateful, and he’s so glad he gets to have this for the rest of their lives. He touches Richie’s face, and kisses him sloppily, and moans as Richie presses deep inside him and grinds in. Eddie’s cock, trapped between them, leaks against their stomachs and throbs, and Eddie sobs with it. 

“Can you come like this?” Richie asks, holding him, thrusting deep into him. “Eddie, can you come?”

Eddie nods fervently, even though he isn’t sure. He wants to. He doesn’t want to let go of Richie to do anything else. 

“Come on, baby, come on,” Richie says, voice deep and wrecked, body slick with sweat, hitching one of Eddie’s legs farther up his waist and finding a really good angle, lighting Eddie up. 

Eddie’s eyes are watering now, and everything feels like too much, in a way that feels transcendent. Heat and pressure are building in his lower stomach, behind his balls, and he tries to ride it, shifts his hips and holds tight to Richie as he chases it. It’s so good, too good, his thoughts are crashing against his skull, pulse throbbing through his veins. He thinks he might be crying, and Richie is making concerned sounds, punched-out sounds, so Eddie forces his mouth open to say, “It’s good, it’s so good, I love you, Richie, sweetheart—”

“ _Eddie,”_ Richie says, and his lips are salty and wet against Eddie’s. 

“Oh, _oh, fuck—”_

He comes so hard he whites out, his breath crashing in his lungs, cock jerking between them. He’s aware, vaguely, of Richie fucking into him wildly, moaning against his lips, fingers biting into his skin, and Eddie’s cock gives another feeble twitch, and then another. And then Richie is groaning out his name, and Eddie feels warm come filling him, and Richie spasming and then collapsing, arms shaking, on top of him. 

“Uff,” Eddie says, still breathing hard. Every time he blinks his eyes open, everything is smeary and strange, so he keeps them closed, his entire body buzzing. 

“Mmmm.” Richie sighs, and mouths gently over Eddie’s throat. “Christ.”

“Fuck,” Eddie says. “Married sex, am I right?”

He can feel Richie grin against him, chest heaving. “Yeah. God. You didn’t tell me it was like this.”

“I didn’t know.” Eddie wraps his arms around him and holds him close. “This hasn’t been my experience with it so I think you’re just really good at it.”

Richie laughs softly. He lifts his head a little, wipes at his eyes under his glasses. “I think the crying bit really helped.”

Eddie takes a moment to wipe at his own face, grinning. “Good as fuck.”

Richie looks down at him, unbearably tender. “Can’t wait to do it a million more times.”

God, Eddie loves him so much. He smiles, and pulls him back down, and runs a hand through his hair, over and over. “So what now? Married cuddling, followed by married sleep?”

“Oh, babe, you know how to get me going,” Richie rumbles against his shoulder. “Here’s my plan: glasses off. Pull out, clean off. Find a comfy position. See if I can slide back into you? Maybe fall asleep, maybe fuck you again. Maybe one and then the other. I’m not that picky.”

Eddie goes hot all over. “Yeah? You wanna?” 

Richie hums the affirmative. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean we’re boring.”

Eddie exhales softly, and feels really _fucking_ lucky. “Yeah. Okay. Good plan.”

Richie grins and kisses his shoulder. “Okay. Hey. I fucking love being married.”

Eddie laughs, and runs his left hand over Richie’s back, feels his ring slide over his spine. “Yeah. Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The next chapter is just a bonus round!! See the tags for contents)


	2. BONUS

The thing about Eddie is that he really liked to have something inside him. It’s why he likes bottoming, and also why their plug gets a lot of use, and why, when Richie is away for a show, his dildo also gets a lot of use. He just likes the way it feels, the stretch, the pressure, the fullness. It’s just deeply satisfying, somehow, and while he obviously gets off on it, he also finds it kind of comforting. Maybe because he associates the feeling with Richie. He doesn’t know. He just likes it. 

So it’s kind of strange, that there isn’t more cockwarming in their lives. It does get kind of messy, which Eddie doesn’t mind while he’s actually having sex, but he doesn’t like to just lie in it, and he _doesn’t_ like falling asleep in it. And it’s a thing he always feels weirdly shy about asking for. In general, he doesn’t get shy about much at all anymore, is more than willing to ask for anything he wants, trusts that Richie won’t make fun of him. But this, he always hesitates to ask for. Like it's too telling, too revealing somehow. 

He also worries, a little, that he’ll get spoiled on it. That it’ll stop feeling so good, or being so satisfying, if he does it too much. And he really doesn’t want that to happen. 

They’ve only done it a few times. Usually during the day, when they’re both not working. While they’re watching TV or cuddling on the couch. It always feels really good, but doesn’t usually last too long, because Richie gets antsy and horny and wants to fuck him, and Eddie can never say no. 

They've never really done it like this, with Richie using two fingers to slide his softening cock back into Eddie after fucking him, pushing his come back inside him, on their sides on the bed with Richie’s nose in Eddie’s hair. 

Eddie breathes out slowly, shifting his hips a little, licking his lips. He moans softly. 

“How’s that?” Richie asks, rubbing around his rim. “Feel good?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “Ohhhh, shit. Yeah, that feels really good.”

“How’s it feel?” Richie asks, his voice sleepy and affectionate. He drapes his arm around Eddie’s middle, rubs at his stomach. He always wants to try to feel his cock inside Eddie, though right now he definitely can’t.

“Warm. Comfortable.” Eddie’s mouth is watering. “Feels like when you put a plug in me after, but less harsh. Softer and better.”

“Mmmm.” Richie kisses behind his ear. “Are you gonna fall asleep?”

Eddie shrugs, his eyes fluttering shut. “Might. You?”

“I’m pretty drowsy. Long day. We’ll see.” Richie kisses the nape of his neck. “Feels good for me, too. You’re so hot and wet. Feels nice.”

Eddie sighs contentedly. He feels satisfied, well-fucked. Horny, kind of, but in a far-off, it-can-wait way. He wants and wants, but right now, this is good. This is so good. He can feel Richie inside him, mostly soft, and he can feel Richie’s come, dripping out of him. He wishes it would stay in, but there’s not a lot he can do about that. But Richie’s hand is on his stomach, too, warm and grounding, tracing idle patterns, and Richie is pressed all up along his back, and Eddie feels so steady and safe and anchored. 

He plays with Richie’s fingers for a minute, breathing in the smell of his husband and sex, and then says, “You got a wet wipe there?”

Richie hums sleepily, retracts his hand to fumble around on the beside table blindly. It returns with a fresh wet wipe. Eddie takes it, and then grabs Richie’s hand and wipes off his fingers, where they were previously inside Eddie. Richie makes a vaguely inquisitive noise, but doesn’t actually say anything. Eddie lifts his hand to his face and bites the thumb gently. 

“Ah,” Richie says, and traces the pad of his thumb over Eddie’s swollen lips. “Needy bo—husband.”

“Mhmm,” Eddie says, smiling slightly. 

“Needs all those holes filled,” Richie says, and pushes two fingers into Eddie’s mouth. 

Eddie would usually roll his eyes at Richie phrasing it like that outside of active dirty talk—and even then, it’s dicey—but as it is, he’s not lying. Eddie tongues against the pads of Richie’s fingers, breathing softly through his nose. His skin tastes like disinfectant, but Eddie sucks it off quickly, until it just tastes like skin. And then he settles in, laving around and between Richie’s thick fingers, letting them press against his tongue. It feels good, like this. He likes having things in his mouth—likes sucking dick, and also fingers, during sex—but it feels different, when he’s not trying to get off. When they’re just lying here, and Richie’s cuddling him, and Eddie’s cockwarming him. So full, with Richie surrounding him completely, inside of him in every way he can be. Eddie would never want it with anyone else. He’ll never have to. 

Richie makes a pleased noise and kisses the back of Eddie’s head, rubbing his fingertips against Eddie’s tongue. “You’re so cute,” he murmurs drowsily. “My husband, so cute. And hot. And horny. Just, at the intersection of cute-hot-horny, there’s my husband, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Eddie huffs a laugh through his nose, and doesn’t argue, because it’d be too much work. He likes Richie saying _husband_ as often as possible. Like he’s getting a feel for how it rolls off his tongue. Eddie wants to feel it against his mouth. Taste how Richie says it. Another time. 

He thinks he nods off, a little. With Richie’s cock inside him and his fingers in his mouth. He can’t be sure, because he’s not fully awake in the first place, but at one point he blinks his eyes open and feels like some time has passed since he was last conscious. He slides his mouth off Richie’s fingers and shifts a little. 

Richie’s cock is still firmly inside him, but Richie himself may be sleeping. Eddie threads his fingers through Richie’s and squeezes. “Rich.”

“Hmm,” Richie says, but not before startling in a way that presses him deeper into Eddie. It feels...good. Eddie smiles. 

“You awake?” Eddie asks, his own voice thick and muzzy. 

“Mmm,” Richie hums. 

“Can I do this?” Eddie asks, and rocks his hips a little. 

Richie breathes hotly against his neck. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Knock yourself out.”

There’s not a lot Eddie _can_ do, with Richie pressed close up against him and still soft. But he manages a little movement, and clenches around him, and it feels nice. Not that stimulating, but good. Richie hums in pleasure, rubs Eddie’s stomach. 

It takes a long time for them to get anywhere. Eddie thinks he dozes off again in the middle of it. But sleep pulls at him less, after a while, and especially so when he starts to feel Richie thickening inside of him, feels his cock twitching and firming up. The sensation of it is novel and delicious, something he’s experienced in his mouth when sucking dick in the past but never like this. There’s no feeling of Richie pushing into him, just a gradual fullness, one that reaches deeper as his cock fills out. Eddie hums into it, swivels his hips, slides Richie’s middle finger into his mouth. 

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie breathes. “Let’s always wake up like this.”

Eddie laughs softly through his nose. It’s impractical, and definitely won’t happen, and Eddie knows he wouldn’t even like it all the time, in practice. But it feels good, knowing Richie’s into it. And maybe after this he’ll buy Eddie a new overnight plug. One of those ones that has beads in the neck so that it feels like you’re getting eaten out. 

“Mmm, baby.” Richie starts moving his own hips now, fucking into him gently. “Are you getting hard?”

Eddie nods, but doesn’t actually need to—Richie pulls his finger out of Eddie’s mouth to reach down, squeeze his cock. Eddie arches into it, moaning, and he feels Richie smile against his shoulder. “More lube,” Eddie says, shifting back against Richie’s cock. 

Richie groans. “But then I have to pull out and find the bottle—”

“And then enjoy my sweet ass without risking doing some serious damage, yes,” Eddie says. “I’m not going to suffer through my entire flight to my honeymoon.”

Richie sighs and pulls out for the first time since he came earlier, and Eddie whines at the feeling of emptiness. Richie smacks his ass gently and says, “Don’t complain,” before rolling away to fumble for the lube. Eddie hears him reapply, and then feels two blunt fingers pushing more into his hole, quick and a little rough. Eddie wants to snap at him, but in the next second, Richie is settling back behind him and hitching Eddie’s leg back over his own and sliding into him, slick and satisfying. 

Eddie sighs in contentment, full again at last. “God,” he mutters. “I really am a cockslut.”

Richie laughs. “Oh, we already knew that,” he says lightly. “We always knew _that._ Would do anything for a fat cock up your ass.”

“Not any fat cock,” Eddie says, breath hitching as Richie rolls his hips. “God, I’m so horny. I can’t believe I became this cock worshipper.”

“Honestly, me neither,” Richie says on a laugh. “God, but it’s nice. This honeymoon’s just going to be one fucking after another. Forget the beaches of fucking...Portugal. I’ll be busy fucking come into you.”

Eddie moans, feeling Richie’s cock slide in him deep, lube dripping out of him. His body feels hot and loose and used, and his cock is dripping, and Eddie can’t do anything but push his hips back and let Richie fuck him. A second fucking always feels very different from the first. It’s always sloppy, clumsy, none of the tight, controlled thrusting of a first round. Eddie’s stretched out and lazy, and Richie is imprecise and slow to get going. He’s handsy, too—not that he isn’t otherwise, but he focuses as much on touching Eddie all over as he does on fucking him, fingertips trailing and dipping over skin. If there’s come or lube on Eddie, Richie is sure to find it, and smear it, and slick up his fingertips with it so that they glide around his nipples. 

And he holds Eddie, more than he usually does. Maybe it’s just because by round two they’re not that interested in positions where fast, hard fucking is the goal, but regardless, he’s always manhandling Eddie into positions where they can press up against each other and Richie can wrap his arms around him, hold tight to him, only ever far enough away to move his hips. Eddie sighs and relaxes into it, takes it, loves it. 

“You take good care of me,” he says, mouth clumsy, words blurring together. 

“Yeah,” Richie says, close to his ear. “It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, squirms so that he feels Richie’s cock inside him. “A give and take.”

“You make sure I eat vegetables and take my medication, I make sure you get fucked on the regular.” 

Eddie grins, eyes closed. “Definitely not for your own pleasure.”

“That’s a bonus,” Richie hums. “A sweet, sweet bonus. Fuck, Eds, I’m gonna come soon.”

“Already?” Eddie reaches back to touch his face, his hair. “What happened to having stamina?”

Richie laughs softly. “I just keep thinking about how I’m fucking my husband and it’s driving me wild. I’m _married_ and my husband’s fucking _hot._ And he _wants me. Twice.”_

Eddie hums out his pleasure, his agreement. He gets that. That euphoric sense of someone _wanting him._ And just...wanting him more than anyone else. It’s probably the reason he got married the first time—just wanting someone to choose him. But that was bad and this, this is _good._ This is so good. Because Richie loves him and cares about him and wants to make him feel good and wants him to feel _brave_ and _strong_ and lets Eddie swear at him and push him around and then swears and pushes right back, and he lets Eddie be _himself_ but he also makes Eddie _better_ and _braver_ and _stronger._ “Aw, shit,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. “You’re making me emotional again.”

Richie laughs, and hugs him tight around the middle, grinding his cock into him at the same time. “I love you so much,” he says, and then slides his hands down to Eddie’s waist and holds him steady so that he can fuck into him a little faster and deeper. 

It’s a slow burn of pleasure for Eddie, like this. Soft moans and a deep, satisfying sensation that builds, but not towards an ecstatic crest. It just feels good, and full. But he likes hearing Richie’s breaths pick up, and feeling his cock twitch tellingly, and feeling his stomach tense where it presses into Eddie’s back. He holds onto Richie’s hand and rubs his thumb along his ring and kisses his palm, eyes closed to relish every feeling, until Richie chokes out a moan and comes inside him, fills him up all over again. Eddie sighs, and smiles, and circles his hips, loving it. 

“Fuck,” Richie breathes, gasping against his neck. “Sorry.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Felt good.”

“Yeah. Shit. What d’you want?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a minute, just feeling Richie shiver through aftershocks, letting him bask a little. And then, when Richie’s breathing is mostly back to normal, he tips his head back against Richie’s and says, “Let me turn around. Finger me.”

“Anything,” Richie says, and pulls out gently before helping Eddie turn so that they’re face-to-face, and kisses him immediately, licks into his mouth, slides one, two, three fingers into him. Eddie is so loose and wet by now, totally relaxed and willing to take pretty much anything, and he barely even notices when Richie slips his little finger into him, too, just sighs at the stretch. Richie kisses him and fingers him deep and languid, massages his prostate with his fingertips until Eddie is gasping with it. He ends up reaching for his own cock to stroke it, because he doesn’t want Richie to let go of him with his other hand, where it’s holding them close together. 

Richie presses his fingers deep into him, and Eddie whimpers, breathing against Richie’s mouth, and then comes in a way that sweeps through his body and leaves him shaking, ears popping. It feels like an earthquake, rattling through his bones. A couple of tears leak out of his eyes at the intensity. 

“There you go,” Richie murmurs against his lips. “That’s good. You’re so good.”

Eddie smiles, and sighs, and just lays there for a while, being held, one of Richie’s hands stroking through his hair, the other inside him. Love throbs in his tongue and behind his eyes and through his lungs. Slowly, he collects the shattered pieces of himself. 

“God,” he breathes at last. “The things you do to me.”

Richie chuckles softly. “I could say the same thing.”

“Shit.” Eddie inhales deeply, and kisses Richie, because he can and he wants to and they’re married. “Rich. I’m glad you didn’t abandon me at the altar.”

Richie coughs out a laugh. “Yeah. Right back atcha.”

The thing is, Eddie would do a lot of dumbass shit for this. He _did_ a lot of dumbass shit. Killed a clown and left his wife and moved across the fucking country. And it was _worth it._ And he’d do it again. He’d do a thousand other things. 

But he doesn’t have to. He’s here. He made it. He’s _married._

He’s right where he needs to be.

**Author's Note:**

> i THINK this is the LAST fic for this series! for real this time! (but like, don't be TOO shocked if i come back eventually.) if i ever write more porn, it'll probably be anonymous, so uhhhh...keep an eye out. i love you all, it's been a pleasure writing this!


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